


zombie pharmaceuticals

by gumsneaker



Category: The Thing (1982)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, been working at the same fic for a solid while now which irritates me lol, i guess?, this is just small. idk. wanted to write something short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumsneaker/pseuds/gumsneaker
Summary: In which Windows gets coffee, Palmer gets high, and they both address the pressing issue of the other assholes they call coworkers.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	zombie pharmaceuticals

**Author's Note:**

> i was watching the thing interviews and thomas g. waites mentioned that carpenter cut a scene where his character and david clennon's were complaining about the others at the base and i went, wait, hold on, that sounds fun! what! how could that have gone! and then i wrote this in the next three hours.
> 
> oh lol fic title from howl by walter mitty and the makeshift orchestra. it's good go listen to it.
> 
> this doesn't take place within the film's continuity though. just a general one-shot. no warnings apply.

It’s lazy. The day is, at least, and Windows finds himself dozing off in the radio room more than once. He decides it’s worth the time spent getting a coffee, and leaves the headset buzzing from where he’s laid it beside the microphone.

When he gets to the kitchen, it’s empty. It’s not really time for any one meal or another, so he’d expected this. Still. Windows doesn’t want to make the detour to the rec room, lest Garry be there to chew him out for abandoning post, but it’s boring listening to static all day and he could have done with a light-hearted exchange with Nauls over brewing a pot.

He huffs to himself and gets to work. It won’t take too long, but he’s not got shit to do when the water is heating, so Windows hops up to sit on the island, kicks his feet back and forth a bit.

It’s beginning to bubble when there comes the sound of shoes on the floor outside, complete with knuckles rapping the wall, and Windows groans internally. He recognizes the tread.

When Palmer comes into view, there’s a joint dangling between his lips, end unlit, and his headphones hanging around his neck. He pauses at the entrance to the kitchen, meets Windows’ furrowed brow over the shades with a dopey look, and then casts a glance around the room.

“You oughta get offa that,” he says, voice having the same cottonlike quality it usually does.

Windows scoffs, but slides off regardless. Mentally reminds himself it’s not because Palmer told him to, but because the water was done heating.

“You makin’ coffee?” Palmer asks in a drawl, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen.

“What’s it look like,” Windows retorts, and Palmer laughs through his nose. “Trying not to fall asleep on the job.”

“Cap’d ride your ass for that.” Palmer laughs a bit harder at this. Windows hopes he can make out the incredulous look Windows is shooting him, and maybe he does, but he doesn’t do anything about it, let alone elaborate. After a second, Windows figures he must mean Garry, and looks back at where he’s working with the coffee.

“Already has,” Windows grumbles, “Does this evil fuckin’ thing where he turns up the volume on the headset if he catches me sleeping, knows the damn radio doesn’t give me nothin’ but static. I half expect to wind up deaf before we get back to the States.”

Palmer shifts a bit at this. When Windows glances up, he can see him sagely nodding. “Found mosta my shit a while back. Woulda taken it, ‘cept Bennings told ‘im the nicotine was the only thing keepin’ ‘im sane out here, ‘nd you know that spun Gar on his head.”

_ Gar.  _ Windows laughs, and then quickly covers it with a hand. “Course it did. Bennings is nice enough on his own, though.”

Palmer’s face breaks into a momentary grin, and then he takes the joint from his mouth, and digs for a lighter from his pocket. “You ever play ‘im in poker? He gets real mean.”

“Not big on poker,” Windows reminds him, and then he shifts the pot over to his mug. “You want coffee?”

“Nah,” Palmer answers, “I know. Folks might start thinkin’ you hate us, how much you’re off on your own.”

Windows frowns, and replaces the coffee pot. It’s still half full. Once it’s cooled down, it won’t be good anymore. He’s not sure what to do about that. Maybe he could take it with him, return it to the kitchen once it’s empty. Probably not a good idea to drink an entire pot of coffee, though.

Palmer must sense he’s struck a nerve. He sounds almost apologetic when he continues, “Wouldn’t be s’bad as Clark, though.”

Windows glances back at him. Swipes a hand over his lower face, sniffs.

“What’s that movie, kid raised by monkeys? Clark’s like that, ‘cept with dogs, I think.”

Windows takes a sip from the mug. It’s too hot. He wrinkles his nose, slips his glasses off of his face because they get fogged up. “There’s a couple,” he answers after a long moment, “But they all suck. And Clark has manners.”

Palmer shakes his head. “Not enough to shake my hand after I beat ‘im at the pool table.”

“I think that’s just you, Palmer,” Windows says, and he hooks his shades over his shirt. “You’re a really awful winner.” He cups the mug in his hands. Finds that maybe he doesn’t want to end this chat on a backhanded note. “Guess Blair’s worse, though.”

This draws a laugh. Palmer takes a puff on his joint while Windows passes him by, and Windows can hear him following as Windows makes his way back to the radio room. Windows is almost grateful for the company. “Sure is. Makes Monopoly hell.”

“Monopoly’d be hell either way. Most of us are insufferable.”

They pass the lab. Windows catches sight of Fuchs and Blair poring over a microscope, and then Palmer matches pace with him. Fucker reeks of weed. Windows purses his lips at the smell, speeds up. “Most?”

“Fuchs is nice,” Windows replies, nods back at the lab entrance as he crosses the threshold into the radio room, “Nauls too. And Norris. Copper.”

“Fuchs ‘nd Norris don’t play Monopoly with us.”

“And they shouldn’t. We’re all insane.”

Palmer snickers. “Thought you said Nauls and Copper were nice?”

Windows shrugs. “Doesn’t mean they’re not insane.”

He sets the mug on the desk, close enough to the radio that it’d make Garry irate if he wandered in, and pretty much drops himself into the chair. He spins it around to face Palmer, who’s prodding at some of the electronics along the wall. Windows almost tells him not to mess with it, but then figures it’s probably not a huge deal, and turns back partially to the desk as Palmer says, “You know what any of this shit does?”

“No idea,” Windows says. He’s not gunning to be withholding about being shit at this, at least not to Palmer. He thought it’d be more fun when he signed on, but the crash course in radio technology went in one ear and out the other.

Palmer tucks his hands into his vest pockets, wanders around the room a bit. Windows takes up the headset again, sets it around his neck so that he can at least look the part of paying attention. “You know who it is washes out their shit in the bathroom sink without tossing the solids?”

Windows wheels around in the seat, faces Palmer fully. He knows exactly what he’s talking about: bits of food waste in the bathroom sinks that nobody wants to take the time to clean out after it’s been done. It’s annoying. “I thought it was you.”

“Hell no,” Palmer answers, and he makes a face at the notion. “Learned to treat group spaces well growin’ up.” He pauses. “Caught Norris cleanin’ it once, though. Probably ain’t him.”

Windows thinks on it for a moment. “Y’know, I hate to say it, but Doc does seem like the type.”

“I woulda thought Mac,” Palmer muses.

“Nah, he’s got all the space he’d want around his shack. If he wanted to dump it, why not into the snow?”

“Yeah, but, I mean hypothetically.”

“It ain’t a hypothetical leaving it in the sink, Palmer.”

Palmer snickers again at this. “You see it, though?”

Windows rolls his eyes, and promptly remembers he isn’t wearing his sunglasses anymore. “I guess. More of him not thinking about it than anything else, though.” He slips the shades off of his shirt, pushes them back up his nose.

“Are you sayin’ somebody would do it on purpose?”

“Spite’s a powerful motivator. You complained about it to anyone?”

Palmer studies him for a moment. “You’re making yourself look real suspicious, Windows.”

He doesn’t want to laugh at this, give Palmer the satisfaction of being funny, but it is funny. Windows ends up having to press the laugh into a palm, and when he finally regains composure and glances back up at Palmer, he’s grinning, blunt down to a mere stub. “You’re an asshole.”

“Biggest one here?”

Windows pretends to deliberate, and then gives a long, languid nod. “Yeah.”

Palmer gapes at this. “Above Blair? Mac?” Pause. “Above  _ Garry? _ ”

Windows is nodding rapidly, and then he hits Garry, and Windows grimaces, slowly turns the motion into a shake. “Not until you start trying to blow out my eardrums.”

Palmer hums. He thinks on this for a second, and then looks around the radio room slowly, as if he’s inspecting it. “Nah,” he settles finally, “This place creeps me out.” He pushes himself off of the wall he’s been leaning against, and nods for the door.

Clear signal the conversation is over. Windows casts a last glance at Palmer, and then sighs, turns back for the desk. He waves a hand back over his shoulder, tugs the headset back over his hair, and doesn’t listen long enough to see when Palmer leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, happy trails!
> 
> if you'd like someone to shout about this movie (and extended franchise, if you're like me) with, hit me up @emissive on tumblr.


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